


You're the smell before rain, you're the blood in my veins

by styleslinee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Angst, Bottom Louis, Completed, Cop Josh, Cop Niall, Cop louis, Don't hate me for the Major Character Death, Gemma is only mentioned, Harry pov, I'm probably gonna add some more tags if they come to my mind, Louis and Nick are an item, Louis and Nick's relationship is not described in depth, M/M, Major Character(s) death, POV Harry Styles, Past Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Profiler Ashton, Profiler Calum, Profiler Harry, Profiler Liam, Profiler Luke, Profiler Michael, Profiler Zayn, Smut, Tomlinshaw - Freeform, Top Harry, Zayn Malik & Harry Styles Friendship, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24653095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/styleslinee/pseuds/styleslinee
Summary: “It was him you talked about, when you used to call me late at night, saying you were missing your ex? Was it him, your important five-year long story? Was it him the person you had thought about proposing, one day?” Nick asks with a low voice, almost inaudible, almost like he’s talking to himself “He’s my boyfriend…” he whispers again, without looking up.“I know! And you shouldn’t worry, because you don’t have a single reason to do so. He’s yours now, he’s with you. I really don’t understand why you came here, honestly” Harry says defending himself out of instinct, even if he has no reason to react like that. He just- just wishes for Nick to leave his room and go back home to Louis. Because at this point Nick has Louis and fuck, why can’t he just go fuck off for once? Doesn’t he have enough shit do deal with already? Does he really need to get into this as well? Right now?
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Nick Grimshaw/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	You're the smell before rain, you're the blood in my veins

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [You’re the smell before rain, you’re the blood in my veins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478877) by [styleslinee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/styleslinee/pseuds/styleslinee). 



> First of all, I'd like to thank Tatty (@Tatty_Obando on Twitter and @Lovely_Styles on here) for translating my story from Italian to English. I always wanted to do it myself but I've never found the time or patience to actually get to it. So thank you for doing it so quickly and so well. I know English is neither mine or yours mother tongue, but you made my story come back to life again. So I'll be forever grateful for that. I love you very much, you're amazing and I'm never gonna stop saying that. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank you, if you decided to take some time and read this story. It means a lot. It's one of my favourite, even if I wrote it back in 2015. So knowing that someone will be able to read it now makes me happy. I hope you'll enjoy it!

The rain falls sharply over the busy New York’s streets. People walk fast from one street to another, as if nothing is happening around them, only covering their heads with the first thing that comes in handy: a newspaper, a briefcase or just a simple hand. If anybody had listened to the weather forecast, maybe they would’ve thought about taking and umbrella with them before leaving their house that day, but amongst the frenzy of a city that never sleeps, it’s really nothing to be surprised about.

Harry looks at New York’s traffic from the large window that has often witnessed hours of his reflections and paranoias, he sighs and closes his eyes for a few seconds. He loves his job more than almost anything in the world, but sometimes he can’t help but think that his life would be easier if he didn’t; almost every day he has to deal with serial killers and psychopaths who -maybe because of some absurd problem or illness- get the idea in their heads that killing is the right thing to do. This thought often brings him to a conclusion: certain people need a serious cure and not just a few years in prison or a rehabilitation center.

“Harry?” a warm voice pulls him back to reality, forcing him to look at the callers’ figure.  
“Oh, hi Luke” the blonde and messy haired guy smiles and rests a hand on his back. He has always been nice to him and he is grateful for that, from a certain point of view. Harry has always been able to count on Detective Hemmings and in more than one occasion he has found himself on his couch to talk about his own issues and to complain about all the work that lately has filled their –and anybody else inside the building- days. “Hood wants to see you” Luke says pointing at their boss’ office.

“Only me?” Harry looks at him raising an eyebrow and snorting knowing that, when Hood calls for him it can only mean two things: a new case or he has done something wrong and he’s going to be yelled at; and he hasn’t made a mistake, he’s never been late, absolutely nothing, so he simply shakes his head and tries to stay calm. He doesn’t dislike working, investigating, and deep thinking just to solve cases, but he would really like to relax or go on vacation, maybe to visit his family or in one of those Caribbean islands that everyone always talks about.

After nodding and thanking his colleague with a smile, he slowly starts to make his way through the long corridor that separates him from the upper floor; he goes up the stairs, arms folded, wondering what could’ve happened that is so important that requires to call everyone in at this time of the evening. Their last case had just been completed and closed earlier that afternoon, so everyone should be getting a free evening. He snorts and fixes his hair by running his fingers through it, messing it up a bit before lightly knocking on Hood’s door, entering without waiting for an answer.

“Styles, we were only waiting for you” says the boss, motioning for him to take a seat on the huge couch on the center of the room, next to Payne, Irwin and Malik.

Harry has always asked himself why was such comfort needed, if after all only two hours were spent within those four walls. He has never said it out loud, and it’s none of his business, really, and he gets why his mother always tells him “you are too curious Harold”; and maybe that’s what pushed him into studying Criminology years ago; curiosity, his own lively and perceptive being, his need to reach a conclusion before any other and, yes, also his undeniable ability to communicate with people who aren’t exactly sane of mind.

Sometimes he thinks about the times he would find himself -at three in the morning- in his living room, trying to get his father away from his mother when he was obviously drunk and intoxicated; the man always tried to get his hands all over the woman who brought Harry to life, he tried to bring her down into all his nastiness, but Harrys’ reflexes, agility and the ability of having a way with words and to deceive people, had been his and his family’s saviors.

“Well” Hood starts, sitting behind his desk, looking at the sheets on top of it. “Scotland Yard has called us for a case”

“Scotland Yard? Why have they called us?” Detective Payne asks before his boss could continue. It’s strange, for sure, and not only for the long distance between both countries but also because, if he is not mistaken, London has a similar team and-

“If you would allow me to finish, detective Payne, maybe I could give you an explanation, how about that?” Hood stops him, eyes rolling, “as I was saying, Scotland Yard has called, and yes I know that we have nothing to do with them and they have their own Behavioral Unit, but…” he stops for a second to look at his detectives in the eyes, one by one. He knows what they’re thinking and he also knows that he shouldn’t be asking them this much, but London seems pretty desperate and needy for help and he was unable to refuse the call before even asking his team about it.

“But?” Irwin asks, rather in shock.

“But, it’s the third time they get a call from this orphanage. Apparently three boys have disappeared and they’re all between ages 12 through 17. They hadn’t linked the three disappearances because, as you might know, it’s fairly normal for teenagers to try and escape, especially if they’re orphans or with a backstory. But by the third call, one of their agents thought it would only be fair to inform the FBI about it or in this case us” he says letting go of the papers on top of his desk allowing his back to hit the back of his chair.

“Why us, specifically?” Harry asks. “As you have already said, boss, they have their own team. Why trouble ours?” he raises his brows, looking at the man with and interrogative expression.

“Because as you know, detective Styles, we are a lot better and their Unit has been struggling a lot, so they have asked for our help and I have already agreed to do it” he tells them, ready to take all the complains that are about to come from the four of them.

“That’s exactly why I transferred to New York, they truly are incompetent!” Harry begins.

“Styles is right, they’re definitely not the smartest out there” Irwin says, while Payne and Malik limit themselves to just snort and nod. Deep down they know that they’ll end up following their boss’ orders and go to London, ready to roll up their sleeves and show that bunch of clowns how their work is really done.

“So, when are we leaving, boss?” Malik asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“At dawn. The jet will be ready to take off from the base. I’m hoping you guys will show up on time and will be ready to work. While flying, agent Clifford will give us with all the information that we might need; that way we can start thinking about the situation and we’ll be ready to start working once we’ll land in London. You’re free to go now.”

Harry and his colleagues get together and leave the office without saying a single word. Their minds are already on the case, thinking about the teenagers who could be forced to be doing God knows what right now and they’re also thinking about the worst case scenario: they could be dead already and Harry shudders. He has never been able to understand how any person could ever commit such actions. He knows that there’s dangerous people out there, mentally ill and annoyed; and the more time passes, the more he convinces himself that the world is made out of about eighty percent of pure shit. 

“You ok, Harry?” he has just set foot outside the headquarters when Zayn joins him.

“Yeah, I’m fine” he answers, his tone a little distant and distracted. He knows where Zayn is trying to go with that question and he’s not in the right mood to take on that argument. Tomorrow they’ll be traveling to London and he has no wish at all to think about what’s awaiting for him there. He is only hoping the past will stay exactly where it is and that it will not interfere with his present.

“Are you sure? Because, you know, tomorrow…” he begins a bit insecure, he knows that it’s not easy for Harry to talk about it and it’s even worse to go back and dig inside his memories.

“I know, Zay. I just don’t- don’t want to talk about it. Not now, at least” and by saying that he ends the conversation and vaguely waves goodbye to his friend.

He needs to distract himself, to occupy his mind or to turn it off for at least a few hours. Maybe this new case will help to not think about Louis and all of the things he left behind. Maybe it won’t be that weird to step back on British grounds after six years. Maybe he’ll find out that he was able to move on, once and for all. That’s why he pulls out his phone and quickly types a text addressed to Nick, one of the few people who he had remained friends with once he moved to New York.

Are you ready to hug me again, asshole? x  
-Harry

The flight took off about six hours ago and his head doesn’t want to pay attention to whatever Hood is saying; he knows he should have his ears and eyes wide open and ready and that he should push away any thoughts from his mind, but he is unable to do so. Memories are invading every inch of his brain and they hurt terribly. Images of a smiling Louis are flashing under his eyelids along with all the things he wished to do, and he would also like to cry. Going back to London is wrong, but he was given no choice. His job is far more important than any stupid relationship that lasted five fucking years and ended because of his damn decision to move to the other side of the world. He is aware that he’s the one to blame and he’s also aware that if he looks into Louis’ blue eyes again he won’t be able to let him go anymore. 

Maybe he made a mistake and he shouldn’t have left the love of his life behind, but his dreams have always been above anything and anyone. His grandfather, prior to passing away, whispered to him “never let anything or anyone get in your way, follow your dreams and never look back”. Now, however, he’s not so sure he made the right decision; how has he been able to pretend for so long? Maybe work, maybe hanging out with his friends or maybe his head immersed in criminology, psychology and behavioral analysis books have helped make everything seem less real, led him to believe that things never really happened and that Louis never existed. Sure. Too bad all of that was good for nothing as everything seemed crystal clear and alive in his happy yet painful memories.

“Styles” Hood calls him. “What do you think?” he adds while raising his eyebrow.

“About what?” he answers, excusing himself with his eyes. He only hopes that his boss won’t call him out about it, even if he’s aware that he deserves a slap on his wrist because of it.

“Based on what Clifford reported about the case, it indicates that the disappeared boys are 12, 15 and 17 years old respectively.” Hood informs him. “It also seems like all of them have similar features: light eyes, blond hair, height around 1,65cm to 1,75cm” he concludes. 

“Is that it?” he asks, running his fingers through his messy curls.

“For now, yes” the man answers, sitting down, putting one of his legs on top of the other “I know it’s very little, however until we are in London, it’s the only thing we have” he adds.

“I can’t say much based on that but if the S.I. chooses them based on physical characteristics, the options are limited: under aged prostitution, organ trafficking, or…” he pauses for a few seconds and shudders. He doesn’t want to really think about the other possibility.

“Or?” Payne calls him out.

“He wants to sell them” a sigh escapes his lips and he proceeds to massage the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He really hopes that it’s not about that kind of trafficking, he has seen countless amount of cases like this one end up in the worst way possible, and knowing that it’s regarding young boys makes his stomach twist and turn so much that he feels like vomiting.

“If that’s the case we need to hurry” Malik comments, comfortably laying on the black leather couch the jet has to offer.

“Or it could be already too late” Irwin and Payne say in unison, exchanging a funny look, even if the circumstances surrounding them are not happy nor funny at all.

Hood nods and sits back down, laying against the back of his seat. Harry stares at him quietly and can’t help but think what could be going on inside of his head. He knows that this case is rather hurtful for him as it reminds him of the time his nephew had been kidnapped a few years ago and was auctioned by a deranged man. Yes, the case was solved in less than a month and the little one went back into his family’s loving arms as well as other four lovely kids, but it was and will always be hard to face this kind of things. Not that they’re not used to it, after all a bunch of criminals are wandering free all over the world, but sometimes it’s all just too much to handle. Right now everything could be fine if it wasn’t for his boss’ tapping his fingers on his knee or Payne biting at his pens’ cap while carefully reading the information Clifford had sent earlier; Irwin is throwing a little ball of paper in the air and catches it again a few seconds later effortlessly, Malik stares out of the window, eyes lost amongst the morning lights. Everything seems so calm that Harry is scared to even open his mouth to breath, he knows the storm awaiting for them is just around the corner and he thinks he is not at all ready to face everything that’s coming their way.

The duffle bag slides from his shoulder and hits the ground with a thud, Harry sighs and grabs it as if it was a handbag. 

“Harry, you know that-” Zayn starts to say in between laughs but the curly haired one blocks him with a hand movement.

“Don’t say a word or I swear I’ll push you under the first taxi that passes by” he warns him, putting his Ray-Bans over his tired eyes. They landed a few minutes ago and he can’t wait to go back to New York already, his nerves have been pulled a little too far and he is not so sure he’ll be able to resist more than twenty-four hours in London. He sighs again while he gets closer to the edge of the street, phone in hand, ready to call a taxi when he notices a couple of unread messages.

Have you landed, H?  
-Gemma

As soon as you land come to my house, that way I can introduce you to my boyfriend, asshole! I’ll be waiting”  
-Nick

He smiles and shakes his head while replying to both messages. In a way he is happy to be there and be able to hug his friends again, since he hasn’t seen them in a while, but there’s also a part of him that is ready to run. He only needs to resist for a week or so- although he hopes it’s not going to take that long. He sighs and gets in the first taxi that stops in front of him, he gives Nick’s address to the driver and sits back. He’s tired and barely able to understand what the man is telling him, he would love to listen to him and make a conversation out of it but he’is fully aware that his lips won’t be able to form any word. That’s why he smiles and nods, letting the taxi driver’s story take over, only hoping that Nick will be able to distract him completely.

Harry tightens his sweater and adjusts his duffle bag back on his shoulder. Quickly he reaches the intercom going through the list of names, smiling when he stops on top of Grimshaw. The gate opens a few seconds later and he sighs, he can’t wait to hug Nick again and catch up with everything that has happened during the past years away from the always beautiful but nostalgic London.

He goes up the stairs that are separating him from the entrance door and enters the building right away, without waiting for the door to close; he reaches for the elevator button, pressing it and hoping to get straight to the third floor.

If he thinks about it, he is able to perfectly remember the last time he found himself in that condo, just a few hours before leaving for America; it seems like nothing has changed but still-

“Harry!” he has no time to get out of the elevator because Nick’s arms wraps his body in a hug, making him feel small and fragile. He has no idea why, but in that very moment his defenses falls completely, his thoughts are spinning dangerously, tears threatening to roll down his face, but no, he can’t allow that, he can’t break like that in the middle of a hall. He is a man, for fuck’s sake.

“I’ve missed you so much, Harold!” Nick says, moving away and smiling and maybe that’s the only thing he needs: a friend. Not that his colleagues are useless when it comes to sadness or disappointment, but… yeah.

“I’ve missed you too, Grim” he looks at him in the eyes and who knows how or why, but Nick understands exactly what is going through his head and places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, guiding him through the door of his apartment, inviting him to sit on his black leather couch; Harry thanks him mentally and sincerely smiles at him, because that small gesture makes him feel protected and safe, somehow.

“How was your flight? And most important question: how does it feel to be back home?” his friend asks, sitting on the armchair in front of him. 

“It’s weird, you know? Overall, I’m happy to be here, being able to see Gemma and you again, but… I don’t know, there is something urging me not to stay; and it’s, uhm, frustrating” the curly headed one says, crossing his legs, looking around. Nick’s house is still the same, fashion magazines on top of every visible surface, books of who knows which authors filling the huge wall long bookshelf, alcohol bottles in beautiful displays. He shakes his head and begins to wonder if visiting Nick was a good idea.

“What do you mean?”

“Eh, coming here means digging up memories that I’m not sure I want to revive? You know what I mean?” Nick nods and he is about to reply when an opening door interrupts him. Both guys turn towards the bathroom and Harry’s mouth falls wide open when a small and very familiar figure comes insight, holding his head down, saying “Love, has your friend arrived?” finally raising his head and stopping.

“Louis” Harry whispers, lowering his eyes to look at his own hands resting on his thighs. It’s not possible… this can’t be real.

“What is he doing here?” Louis asks, while Nick looks at him with a confused expression.

“You know each other?” he asks Harry, who just nods and only says “Yeah” looking everywhere, trying his hardest not to find Louis’ eyes. He’s not ready, at least not yet.

“So, he’s your friend? What is he doing here?” Louis asks again, turning to his boyfriend.

“He’s here to-”

“I’m here to work on a case. Scotland Yard called us” the curly one interrupts, staring at Louis’ face, who slowly nods and sits on the arm of the chair Nick is currently sitting on.

“So you’ll work together!” Nick excitingly says, as if a yearly subscription to GQ magazine had just been gifted to him.

Is it possible Nick knows nothing? Is it possible that Louis told him nothing about his previous relationship? About him? About them?

He nods to Nick’s affirmation, while his friend begins to tell him everything that has happened in the last few years, not missing a single detail. Harry’s happy to hear he had finally been able to follow his dream to become the most popular radio host in England. He’s happy to know that he’s satisfied with his life, that he has a special someone by his side that fills his days making them even better. He deserves it, after all. However, he’s unable to understand how his Louis ended up with someone like Nick. He was thinking… what was he thinking exactly? That Louis would’ve waited for him? That he would’ve allowed himself to be destructed by pain, staying single his entire life? How could he be so selfish and stupid?

He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, trying not to seem agitated. It’s weird for him, to find himself in that room with two important people, fundamental even, that are and have been part of his life. He asks himself how it’s possible that after all this time, things have changed so fast and everybody has moved on with their lives -more or less- they flipped the page; looking into Louis’ eyes still gives him chills, the ones that go through all your skin and make you feel good, the kind of chills you wish never left your body. The kind of chills that you feel when you are in front of the person that you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of your days with, until death draw you apart. It feels nice.

“…and then we ended up in that horrible café, we had a cup oh Yorkshire Tea in front of us and we were talking about… what was it? Oh yeah, Chlorophyll Photosynthesis” Nick was going through his memories about the first time he met Louis and Harry can’t even smile. Those words hurt like blades cutting through every inch of his body. His friends his laughing like he just said the funniest joke ever. But he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t want to get it. He fakes a laugh, a smile, and he just allows the dimples on his cheeks to show and keeps on listening about how both of them decided to see each other again and hang out after that day; about how their relationship grew all the way to where they are now, in Nick’s apartment that they both share, even though Louis has an apartment of his own.

“I’m happy to hear that” Harry says while looking at both of them in the eyes.

Louis furrows his eyebrows in disbelief, probably not expecting that kind of answer. To be honest, Harry understands, he himself can’t believe he could be happy about his ex-boyfriend and one of his best friends being together. It’s a weird thing, it’s foreign to his way of thinking, to his character, but yet his smile is still on his face and it’s still there when he locks eyes with Louis, who’s staring at him in shock. And Harry doesn’t know why, but he finds himself shaking his head, because after all, Louis shouldn’t care about what he thinks, right? He moved on, he rebuilt his life, he cashed away -even if he hopes he hasn’t done it completely- his memory, and he’s fine. He shouldn’t be that surprised about Harry’s reaction. They’re adults, vaccinated and smart, so they should be able to get on with this situation very easily. Even if Harry is the first one to be unsure of it, despites it all. Because it’s easy to not care too much about things when you’re tired, upset and have two people in front of you who are calm and in love, but tiredness fades away, the brain wakes up and the emotions are back in full force spinning dangerously in a body that isn’t necessarily ready to take them back again, at some point.

There’s too much silence.

Detective Birdman had just finished exposing the case, trying to explain everything that him and his team have been able to discover in the past few days; or better, have not discovered, which makes everything a little more complicated.

They don’t have a lot to use as a base, they don’t have enough evidence to create the S.I. profile; they don’t have any of the orphanage Social Workers statements, they don’t even have testimonies from the nurses that looks after the kids. They substantially have nothing and Harry is certain he’s about to have a nervous breakdown, because to everyone in Scotland Yard the case seems to be not important. At all. The detectives are calm, too calm, and he would love to just kick them all or even better, lock them in a cell and never let them out. The lives of three teenagers are at stake, they disappeared for who knows what reason. At this very moment they could be in the process of being mistreated, beat or killed and no, all this can’t be taken so lightly. So he gets up, walks around the room trying to calm down, to listen the the questions Chief Hood is asking the London squad, but nothing, he needs to let go of the anger that is flooding him before he makes a mistake and let the whole bunch of incompetent beings, that care more about a cup of tea that a human life, and okay, tea is sacred even for him, but fuck, work is work and it should be taken seriously, it should be done to the best of one’s abilities, nothing left behind; they should be busy and try to get as much information about the possible suspects and about the poor kids that have nothing in the world but themselves. 

He snorts loudly, which makes Zayn look at him, who signs for him to sit and calm down, so he tries. Harry sits next to him and crosses his legs, trying to focus and store the most information possible, but it’s useless, the words coming from the Scotland Yard’s detectives gets to his head like a drill does on a Sunday morning at 8am, and it’s all just too much.

He gets up again, this time making noises with his chair, tightening his fists. Looking at the people inside that room, one by one, catching a glimpse at Chief Hood’s reproachful gaze, but it doesn’t matter, he needs to talk, say what’s on his mind.

“Is it possible that none of you, in three fucking weeks, has been able to find any useful information? Is it possible that you only care about having tea and lemon biscuits? What do you motherfuckers have instead of brains? Polystyrene balls?” he shakes his head and a nervous laugh escapes his lips. If it was possible, he would taken every single individual in there and would’ve smashed their heads against the wall. Is it really that possible they’re so careless of everything going on outside those four walls? “Now I understand why you called us, all the way from New York. Well done, colleagues. If I had the energy I would give you an applause, but unfortunately I’m exhausted” and with everybody’s eyes on him, the furious stare from Chief Hood, the shocked one from his team and Louis’ worried one, he exits the room and at a brisk pace he hurries to exit the building as well. He needs to breath, needs to let go all the nervousness and anger accumulated in that small amount of time; he’s not really sure why his reaction was so exaggerated, but he doesn’t care. He wants everyone to get busy and, fuck, it’s not really possible that in three weeks they’ve been able to find nothing. It’s London, not New York, and okay it’s true, in his hometown the criminals are a lot, but he thinks that it’s really not that hard to find at least one piece of evidence, a trace to follow; he’s sure that before the weekend approaches, he’ll tell everybody to fuck off and will go back to the Big Apple, far away from his past and from this case that makes him feel tired already, and they aren’t even at the beginning. Fantastic. He rests his back against the wall and lets his head fall back, closing his eyes. Where’s all the will power he usually has? Where are his determination and work dedication? He lets his hand run through his hair, some curls falling at the side of his eyes and he sighs. Sighs because his colleagues are unable to do their own job. Sights because he simply doesn’t know what else to do. Yes, sooner or later his boss will yell at him and will kindly ask him to stick his tongue up his own ass, because he knows him. He knows what he has done and he knows how much that behavior will make him very angry. He also knows that he will not want to hear reasons, although, most certainly, he will be on his side, because after all, everyone inside the building thinks just like him, they all perfectly know that he’s right and that both detectives and police from Scotland Yard are pretty much good for nothing.

He narrows his eyes and looks around, the building’s door opens, revealing Louis’ small figure in uniform and with his lips between his white teeth. He is beautiful, just like Harry remembers him deep inside his mind and yes, his heart too. Their eyes meet and it’s like breathing again after being held underwater, and it shouldn’t be like that, right? Louis shouldn’t still have that effect on him, and yet…

“What has gotten into you, Haz?” and Harry’s heart paws, beats like crazy because… Haz. Even his current friends call him by that nickname, but coming from Louis’ lips it’s a whole different story, a different sound, one more beat, and no, Harry hasn’t forgotten about him yet, how could he? His first love, his first everything. He sighs, trying to push back all those thoughts, he can’t give in, he can’t seem weak, he can’t and will not.

“Nothing, I’m just nervous” he says, shaking his head, then with a sarcastic smile he continues. “Have they sent you to keep an eye on me?” his eyes are staring at the pavement and he knows Louis doesn’t deserve it, he has nothing to do with that and it’s not his fault. So he bites his bottom lip “I’m sorry” he whispers, torturing his hands with his fingernails.

“Is there something wrong?” Louis asks, trying to as be cautious as he can.

“Why do you want to know?” is the dry answer that he gets from the curly haired one.

“Haz, I’m just worried and I want to make sure you’re ok!” he lets the other one know, sighing, blue eyes meet green eyes, transmitting him a bit of peace that he was needing so much, and Harry is thankful for that, however at that very moment he would like for him to get away, because he has always been able to calm him down, to make him feel good and fuck, he’s in some deep shit right now.

So he decides to tell the smaller boy what’s bothering him, skipping the thoughts regarding him, of course; he tells him about the trip and the stress and about how his colleagues ignorance made him reach the limit. He tells him about how he feels weird being in the city that saw him come to life, he tells him about Gemma and how her support has been so important in the past few years and he feels liberated, in a way, because it’s like going back to school, were everything was simple and easy and they were each other’s exact half, even if they had to yet come to terms with their love.

“Earlier you were too harsh, Harry. But you are right, that’s why I called your department, they are teenagers, for fuck’s sake” and Harry nods, agreeing with Louis. They are teenagers, defenseless and forced to do God knows what. They need all the help they can get, but with the way the London Unit works and with that rhythm, they can pretty much expect nothing will be done properly.

“Y- you did the r-right thing” he says stuttering with no apparent reason. He feels uncomfortable and at home at the same time and it’s all confusing for him, so he looks at Louis, hoping he can show him that he’s not in the mood for keeping up the conversation, and that is exactly what happens because the brunette guy smiles, understanding, and “Should we go back inside? I think they’re done by now. However, I think you might need to have a chat with your boss” he says, laughing a bit knowing that Harry’s about to get in trouble.

The coffee is hot.  
Harry closes his eyes for a second and allows the drink to warm up his throat, before continuing to attentively read the report from the last seven days. A week has gone by and still nothing, nada, niente. Not like they were expecting for all evidence to start coming at once, falling from trees, but… hope is always the last one to die. Therefor he takes a look at the orphanage phone list and sighs; they’ll most likely find nothing in that building or in its surroundings. They have interrogated every single person inside there, from the Director all the way to the janitors, the ones who make sure that everything is in its place before closing the main doors every evening. Harry’s astonished, because they are talking about an orphanage not an office for who knows what. Someone clears their throat and that brings Harry back to reality, he lifts his eyes and Louis is staring at him directly. Fuck. Is it possible that he is unable to have a single second on his own without his fucking ex-boyfriend close to him? Is he doing it on purpose?

“Have you read the updates?” Louis asks, hands behind his neck, embarrassed, Harry nods and sighs, he wishes he had more in his hands, wishes he could be helpful for those kids. 

“What do you think?” he asks again, seeing as the curly haired one still refuses to open his mouth. Harry could easily kick him; is it possible that he doesn’t understand? They aren’t forced to have a conversation or to exchange information, yeah, they work together, but it all starts and ends there; that’s why he sighs and looks at him, he feels nothing but annoyance in his presence. After all… after all nothing. God.

“Honestly? I don’t know. We are in a blind alley and I don’t understand a thing, I really can’t” Harry says, running a hand through his hair, pulling it slightly out of pure frustration.

“What can’t you understand exactly?” Louis asks, sitting on the desk, keeping his distance from Harry.

“I don’t understand how someone can be so… so stupid, so cruel, so sick. And then, why? Why sell kids, children that have nothing in the world?”

“Because of exactly that. Think about it, what do they have to lose? And I’m not justifying this behavior, don’t look at me like that, but seriously. Think about it, what could they get if the kidnap one of my sisters, for example? Sure they could get some money and have a bit of fun, but they would’ve destroyed a whole family. In this case, they don’t have a family, they only have themselves. Do you see what I mean? Louis explains, drumming his fingers on the desk. And Harry thinks that yes, Louis is right, so he nods and sighs again, biting his bottom lip.

“Do you think we’ll ever catch him? Or her? ” Harry asks, hopeful.

“Yes, Harry, sooner or later we will find them” he reassures him with a small smile and again Harry finds himself nodding, like a kid who had just been explained the difference between what’s wrong and what’s right.

“Can I talk to you, possibly somewhere private?” Louis looks at him again, insecure, fingers intertwined and lips slightly opened.

“Yeah, sure” Harry looks around, nobody is looking or listening at them. “I think we could even talk here, everybody is too busy to care about us” he says inviting him to sit down next to him. Louis does and sighs, catching his lips once more in between his teeth and Harry can’t help but wonder what’s worrying him, what makes him that nervous. Because he knows, he knows him, and he always tortures a part of his body when he doesn’t know how to behave. Louis lowers his eyes and looks at his black boots, the ones that match his police uniform.

“Okay” he whispers.

“Is there something wrong, Lou?” Harry regrets immediately the nickname that escapes from his lips. That’s how he used to always call him and he worries Louis notices, so he turns his full attention back the brunette who’s blushing, while trying to from a sentence, perhaps not finding the right words. And Harry is about to say something, about to put a hand on his back to reassure him and tell him that there no need to talk if he doesn’t feel like it, but Louis looks up and says “Nick knows everything” in a whisper, fixating his eyes on Harry’s and he feels like he is missing something, like the earth is violently shaking underneath his feet and he finds himself opening his mouth in surprise with a bit of fear.

“Everything about what?” he asks, immediately thinking how much of an idiot he is, because of course Louis’ talking about their relationship. That’s the only everything he could be talking about. Nothing more. 

“When you left, last week, I told him everything. I mean, not everything, but I told him about us. I thought it was only fair for him to know, you know?”

Harry nods, lowering his eyes “You did the right thing. I honestly thought he knew you had been with me or at least knew that you had a boyfriend prior to him” he says while playing with the fabric of his skinny jeans.

“I didn’t think it was necessary, you know? After all, it was a story ended many years ago, so I didn’t think it was important”

A nervous almost sarcastic laugh exits Harry’s lips. “Yeah, right” he gets up. “I- I have to go” he lets the other know, walking towards nowhere and nothing in particular.

He didn’t see Louis’ fingers trying to catch him and stop him, while he’s roughly biting his bottom lip, so hard that it’s bleeding, with a sad expression. So he exits the room and curses his job, himself and all the love he proved to still have for Louis.

London is cold, Harry tightens his black sweater and snorts. He wishes he was at the hotel, under the warm and comfortable sheets, he wishes he could sleep and get far away from the entire word, but he can’t. He has to focus, he needs to put all of himself into the case and into the very few things they have discovered; his morning had not been profitable at all, but he’s hoping for a bit more of productivity from his colleagues and those at Scotland Yard that evening. He stretched his legs, had lunch at a small café a bit far from the office and now he’s ready, despite everything. He wishes he wasn’t sharing the same air a Louis, but he has to clench his teeth and live with that thought and all the other ones that are tormenting him. It’s fucked up, he knows, but still he tries to not scream from all the frustration pent up inside of him, it wouldn’t help at all, not to the heart or to the mind, not to the shaky hands he gets every time he sees Louis in front of him. He is a detective, for fuck’s sake, not a fucking five-year-old child. So where’s his professionalism? Probably left behind in a drawer in his New York apartment and he needs it now, if not for him, for the case that will soon send him to a mental hospital, and it’s only been a week.

He quickly gets into the elevator, shaking his head massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Enough distractions, it’s time to let everything out of his head and fix his eyes onto the case and nothing else. He is unaware of his surroundings until the person next to him clears his throat.

“You must be detective Styles, right? Niall Horan, nice to meet you” the guy says, offering him his hand, which Harry takes and shakes cordially, nodding in response to the other mans’ question. He knows he’s and adult but to Harry he looks like a kid, probably due to the intense blue of his eyes filled with a light that Harry can only describe as happiness, filled with will to live, probably due to the smile drew on his lips or maybe due to the accent he’s unable to properly identify. 

“Pleasure is all mine” he says and a smile appears on his face.

“Have you made any progress with case, new yorker?” the blonde one asks.

“We are lost at sea, unable to find a single clue, nothing, you? Found anything new?” the curly haired one asks in return, observing Niall’s features turning serious; he would like to ask why, but he also knows that is none of his business, so he decides to play whit his iPhone case instead, forgetting he even had it in his hands.

“Mostly the same. We had a clue, but it turned out to be a hole in the water” Niall answers, looking at the little screen that indicates what floor they’re in. They reached their floor, but Harry waits, allowing the officer to go past him.

Before he leaves, Niall turns around one las time and asks “Do you know one of my colleagues, by any chance?”. Harry looks at him curiously at the beginning, and then “Who?” says dumbly.

“Tomlinson” is the dry answer he gets from the blonde guy.

“Oh” the curly one is astonished, putting his hands in his pockets, a bit agitated. As if Niall had the power to read his mind and discover all the feelings that a single last name makes him feel. The fear, the love.

“Yeah, we were friends. I used to live in London and we know each other” Harry says and Niall only nods, distant and cold. The complete opposite of when they start their conversation inside of the elevator.

There’s something strange about the man, something that doesn’t allow him to get into more details about his relationship with Louis, so he just lets the conversation die. He doesn’t trust him, but that’s not a novelty, after all he is still a stranger. It will take time, maybe, or maybe not.

Shaking his head he exits the elevator as well, walking fast towards the desk assigned to them by Detective Birdman a few days ago, finding Zayn with a reassuring smile on his face.

“Hey, H” he greets him, placing a hand on this shoulder.

“Hi, Zayn. Need something?” he asks, knowing he’ll soon get an answer. He knows Zayn a little too well.

“I only wanted to chat with my dearest friend, is that a crime?” he says almost laughing at Harry’s face, but he holds it in and only nods.

“How are you?” he asks Harry, studying hid face as if he was examining it. 

Harry caresses his nose and sighs, he should’ve imagined that sooner or later the interrogation would happen and he is thankful about it, but he’s also not sure he can let go, he’s not sure he’ll be able to talk, but he trusts Zayn, so he replies “I’m fine, I think” looking down at the black screen in front of him, getting lost in his own thought but his friend’s voice pulls him back.

“Are you sure? Ever since we left New York you’ve been distant” Zayn begins, and then “it’s because of Louis, right?” he adds whispering, making sure only Harry could hear.  
“Yes” Harry whispers back, adding nothing else, letting himself fall onto the chair, he points his eyes elsewhere, away from Zayn’s gaze, avoiding the paternal speech his friend probably wants to deliver, but he’s wrong, because the other one just bites his tongue and only nods in response.

“I get it, H, just be careful, okay?” he says, resting his hand on his shoulder again, trying to make him feel the affection they have for each other, and he does it, he really does, and Harry certainly feels better, he feels safe for at least a few seconds. So he lifts his eyes and he looks at Zayn’s golden ones, thanking him with a sincere smile, the kind that make his dimples show. And Zayn has to be happy for those moments, because Harry knows that soon he’ll find himself in his arms looking for comfort, he just has that feeling and usually he’s not wrong. Maybe it’s his sixth sense as a detective sniffing something that’s yet to come, a change or maybe he’s just trying to defend himself in advance, putting his hand in front of himself, prior to falling, but deep inside he knows it’ll be good for nothing because he will suffer. He already is.

Fall Out Boy’s “Dance, Dance” notes invades his ears, he sings along and moves his fingers matching the tempo, while lying on his bed, trying to relax. He got out of the shower a few minutes ago and he has all the intentions to do absolutely nothing. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to go out with his friends, although they begged him to join them, he’s simply not in the mood for it. And it’s weird, because if they were in New York, at this time they would be all sitting at some pub laughing, joking and most importantly drinking. And he’s well aware that alcohol is not good for the body, especially the brain, but every once in a while even he feels the need to unplug from his routine, from his life; and it’s probably what he needs right now, instead of staying inside of his hotel room and yet he declined, faking an unexpected headache. Thinking about it makes him laugh. He laughs because it’s the same excuse he always uses when declining invitations from flirty guys, and wow, when did he get this old?

He sighs and lets his head go against the pillow, achieving a comfortable position. Turning his phone in his hands, unable to decide what to do, he would like to message his sister, ask her to come over to chat, to relax and be free, but he doesn’t want to bother her; she’s probably busy and doesn’t want to be a burden, absolutely not, so he unlocks the phone and looks at his screen saver, a picture of Zayn, Liam and himself smiling at the camera and without thinking he’s smiling at the screen as well, thinking about the memories from that evening when the picture was taken. They weren’t doing anything, their boss had given them a week off and they had decided to spend it in California, on a road trip, just the three of them. He remembers as well that as soon as they got to Santa Monica he forced them to run seven kilometers on the beach just to make fun for their shortness of breath, he would say that was one of his favorite vacations ever if they ever asked him about it, and it’s true, because his head was completely empty, although his heart was still completely broken.

He keeps on smiling, while slowly removing his headphones, unplugging them from his phone and putting them on the bedside table.

He walks around the room, bored, looking for something to do, he doesn’t want to turn on the TV or read a book, so he goes back to the bed, sitting on the edge tapping his feet against the ground. Sometimes he feels like a kid, when he thinks about his attitude, even his mother tells him sometimes when he gets mad and he wants something or he is just simply sad.

He’s about to reach over for his phone again, ready to have it back in his hands, when he hears a faint knock on the door, he wonders who could it be, he’s not expecting anybody and suddenly his thoughts go to Louis, but it’s impossible. He gets up against his will, going towards the entrance, slowly opening the door.

“May I come in, Haz? I need to talk to you” Nick says, hands in his pockets and eyes on the ground, he seems shy at that very moment and Harry’s surprised. Surprised to see him there, surprised for the embarrassment and tension anyone could feel between them.

“S-sure, yeah” he answers, moving so that Nick could step into the room. He looks at his friend, who after bowing his head sits on the desks chair.

“What do you want to talk about?” at that point Harry asks, curious and a bit frightened, he’s not sure why, but he is afraid of the conversation that is about to happen, he fears It will ruin their friendship, he can’t allow that.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” finally Nick looks up, his eyes looking teary and cheeks a bit red.

“Told you what?” he pretends he doesn’t know what he’s talking about because he doesn’t know where to begin.

“About you and Louis. Why haven’t you ever told me?” his friend responds, voice shaky. “I thought we were friends”

“We are, Nick” he says immediately.

“Then how come you never even mentioned something about you and Louis? Explain it to me, because I don’t understand”

“Because when I met you our relationship had ended already, I was ready to leave for New York and I was looking forward to move on, to turn the page and leave my past in here, in London, at that moment it didn’t seem like such an important thing, can you understand that? And then we became friends, and I started to study criminology and I never thought about it again, truly” Harry explains, running his fussed fingers through his hair, biting his lip, unsure, he doesn’t know what to do he shouldn’t justify his actions to Nick, because it makes no sense, it shouldn’t matter. Louis is with him, right? So where exactly is the problem? Harry really can’t seem to understand that.

“It was him you talked about, when you used to call me late at night, saying you were missing your ex? Was it him, your important five-year long story? Was it him the person you had thought about proposing, one day?” Nick asks with a low voice, almost inaudible, almost like he’s talking to himself “He’s my boyfriend…” he whispers again, without looking up.

“I know! And you shouldn’t worry, because you don’t have a single reason to do so. He’s yours now, he’s with you. I really don’t understand why you came here, honestly” Harry says defending himself out of instinct, even if he has no reason to react like that. He just- just wishes for Nick to leave his room and go back home to Louis. Because at this point Nick has Louis and fuck, why can’t he just go fuck off for once? Doesn’t he have enough shit do deal with already? Does he really need to get into this as well? Right now? It’s selfish, stupid and careless, but he comes first, before anything and anyone else. He cares about Nick, he really does, but at this very moment he wishes… he doesn’t even know what he wishes anymore.

Harry looks at Nick, while the guy massages his temples, he doesn’t know what to do, so “Nick I’m tired” he says, biting his lip. “Could you… could you please leave?” he asks, whispering.

Nick nods slightly and stands up, walking towards the door and he hesitates a second or two before saying “I’m sorry, H. Maybe, maybe I shouldn’t have reacted that way. You’re right” exiting the room.

Harry sighs and unexpectedly all the tension is gone. He feels better compared to a few minutes ago, hence why as soon as he closes his eyes and lays in bed it’s like he leaves this world and his brain turns off.

His desk is a mess, there are loose pages everywhere and he’s about to go crazy. A few ours ago a woman called, requesting to stay anonymous, giving them some sort of evidence, and because of that the central is now full on chaos.

Zayn and Liam had been sent to interrogate the lady, while the Scotland Yard agents were in charge of going back to the orphanage and inspect it top to bottom, room after room, tile after tile. He had stayed back, drowning in piles of paperwork with Ashton and Luke. They’re trying to create the S.I.’s profile, but it seems almost impossible, they have way too little information, that’s why everyone hopes Malik and Payne come back with something.

Harry sighs. “How is it possible that this bastard is able to hide this well?” he says while scratching his neck.

Ashton nods in agreement, carefully going through the huge amount of reports.

“I think there’s something we are not looking at. It’s impossible that he does all this without leaving a single trace behind” he states running his fingers through his curly hair, he turns to Luke who is also nodding in agreement. “Is it possible that he makes no mistakes at all?” he asks, looking at his colleagues.

Harry sighs again, rubbing his eyes with tapered fingers. He feels tired, nervous and only wishes they could close the case. They have nothing in their hands although it feels like they are just a little detail away from connecting the dots and solve it. Frustration is making him go out of his mind and he truly hopes that after these weeks spent in London, Hood gives them a least a month of vacation, it’s impossible, he knows, but again hope is the last thing that dies.

“Let’s look at everything again, from the very beginning, Luke is right, it’s not possible that he did everything without even the tiniest mistake. Let’s re-evaluate the profiles of everybody who works at the orphanage, re-examine the phone number lists and I know, I know, we’ve done thins hundreds of times, but if it’s true that we are missing something, we have to get to it from the start again. Let’s go!” he says hitting his fists against the desk. Irwin and Hemmings stay silent and limit themselves to focus on their job, rearranging the files they have available. They can do it, Harry thinks, they have been able to solve worst cases than this one, and yes this one is strange in the sense that they are having a hard time finding a clue, it’s like something close to them is blocking them, as if someone was looking at what they’re doing and throwing them off on purpose. But who could it be? Everyone had been interrogated and yet there is something that doesn’t feel right.

An unhappy servant?  
A frustrated headmaster?  
A nurse with mental problems?

All of the possible options are being re-evaluated, but the main question is still the same: why? The only plausible reason his head is able to find is one: money. Not like there could be many more, but it would be sneaky, those people are there to make sure that the right kind of people find out about such defenseless teenagers. No, it can’t be someone from on the inside he reasons within himself, while looking at his surroundings, fixating his eyes at the door of the department; he scans the face of his colleagues, finding them irritated, tired, and sleepy at their own desks, some with a phone in their hand looking for some clue, others with a cup of coffee to relax, and Harry gets them, he wishes he could take a break but he can’t, so he closes his eyes and “Guys?” he says, opening them again, turning towards Ashton and Luke, who are looking at him with curiosity.

“What if the problem was right in front of our eyes?” he thinks, placing a fingers on his chin.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Ashton asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“I mean, what if someone knows our every move” he goes, standing up, turning towards the desk unable to stand still. It’s an absurd idea, but what if someone was really trying to sabotage them from up close?

“I don’t get it, H. It makes no sense!” Luke blurts, bringing his hands to his hair.  
“But it does, if you think about it. Why haven’t we found a good piece of evidence, yet?” he asks, gesticulating. How did this not come to his mind sooner?

His thought gets interrupted by his phone ringing. He grabs it instantly, without looking at the caller and he picks up. “Hello?” he says, huffing.

“Good news, H. We have a clue!” Liam informs him, happiness in his voice.

“Are you serious, Payne?”

“Super serious. Our source gave us a few addresses, so know we know where to look at and more importantly, what to look for” Liam adds, laughing slightly. Harry would gladly slap him, but he’s relieved and he understands him. He would laugh too, honestly, if he actually had the energy for it.

“Finally!” he yells, without even thinking about it.

The whole department is now staring at him and he blushes, feeling guilty. He shakes his head and lets out a relieved sigh. They have something, finally.

“Okay, fantastic. Are you coming back here?” he asks, impatiently wanting to savor every single detail, they have real evidence.

“No, not tonight, Hood told us to go back to the Hotel and you guys should do it too. It’s late and we need to rest to be at our best tomorrow” he says, wishing him goodnight after a few seconds.

“What happened, Harry?” Hemmings and Irwin ask in unison.

“We have a fucking clue, for fuck’s sake!” he states, smiling. He knows it’s not really something to be happy about, he knows that there are clues that turn out to be useless and if something, he should worry even more than before. But that news manages to cheer him up, makes him have some sort of hope again, which he had lost during the past few days. God, finally. 

“What’s going on here?” a happy and annoying voice interrupts that moment. Louis’ colleague, Horan -if he remembers correctly- is standing in front of his desk and looking down at him.

“We got a god clue, we have just got the news” Harry informs him, frowning. He hasn’t been able to figure him out or where he comes from -not that he cares- but there’s something about him that doesn’t convince him, not completely. He doesn’t know what it is yet, but he doesn’t trust him, not in the slightest.

“So you are no longer walking in the dark?” he asks giggling, crossing his arms on his chest. Harry raises his eyes and looks at him, wondering what could be so funny about what he just said. He should be happy and “celebrating” with them, take a breath in relief and have a warm cup of tea and pause for a moment; however, his eyes seem to be challenging him in a way.

He sighs, trying to keep his composure. “At least we, contrary to you, discovered something!” he says, raising his voice slightly.

Horan scans him with a mocking smile and Harry would like to throw a fist at his face to erase it from his face, but he can’t. It would go against his principles and he doesn’t want to ruin his skin because of an idiot who thinks he’s one step ahead of everybody else.

“So we heard” Niall nods. “What is that you found that is so relevant?” he adds, unfolding his arms, dropping them to his sides.

“You can ask Birdman, your boss, he should inform you shortly” Harry bites back, not liking Niall’s tone at all, walking past him and towards one of the central’s windows. He doesn’t want to go further, not with a person he has nothing to share with, someone who he doesn’t trust and most likely will never trust.

He squints and separates work from his mind, noticeably relaxing, as if a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders, he smiles slightly and finds himself staring at the moving London Eye, looking almost as if it was early in the day, due to all the lights surrounding it. He shakes his head and sighs, realizing that they’re almost there, that everything is about to end now, that finally, he will be able to go home and forget everything. 

Agitation and nervousness are everywhere. He thinks he’s strong and able to pretend that everything is fine and yet, in that small truck next to Zayn and Louis, he trembles. He wants to scream, to let go off the tension by punching the wall or smashing his head against it, but he can’t. They’ve stopped in one of the side roads of the orphanage more than two hours ago, all the machines to wiretap the place are on, but nothing relevant has been heard, and that makes Harry feel restless.

The passenger compartment is silent and unnerving, and the only thing Harry can do is drum on his knees with his fingers, trying to calm down; but he can’t, it’s stronger than him, there’s something in the air that distracts him, that attracts him. He knows pretty well it’s Louis’ smell, that mix between body wash and his tanned skin natural smell. He would like to get closer to him. Hug him and be completely intoxicated by that bewitching trail, but he restricts himself, and stays put silently, allowing himself to wear off from the thoughts and desire for Louis. He bites his lips and huffs after running his fingers through his lightly sweaty hair; it’s warm in there, he feels almost as if he needs to gasp for air, but he’s almost sure that the warm feeling is not what is making him feel that way. He hates himself, he truly does, because his mind should be totally on the case, on the tasks given to them that morning, on those three boys who are most likely frightened and enclosed God knows where, but it’s not, he’s weak, maybe too weak.

He rubs his neck. “I need a coffee” he says to no one in particular, his voice close to a whisper.

Louis and Zayn turn to him, the latter looking at him, knowing that something’s not right, that something’s bothering him, that’s why he nods and gets up, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his skinny jeans’ pocket.

“I need a smoke, so… Is there anything else you want aside from that coffee, Harry? Louis?” the dark haired guy asks, stretching his back, cracking a few bones, they’ve been in a sitting position for way too long. Louis shakes his head, letting out a quiet “No, thanks” from his lips, looking back at nothing in particular.

“No, a coffee is enough, Zay. Thanks” the curly one smiles, knowing that in just a few seconds he would be left alone with Louis and he’s not sure he’ll be able to survive.

“I think it’ll take me a while, considering we are a bit far from the center so, uhm, if something comes up just call me and I’ll rush back” Zayn adds, before quickly leaving the van, bringing with the smallest feeling of tranquility Harry had on his body up until a second ago with him. Harry sighs, biting his lips, unsure of what to do. He wishes he could talk, tell Louis the first thing that comes to his mind, but he thinks that won’t be the right thing to do. He would expose himself even more and he can’t do that, not now that Louis has someone in his life that’s not him. So he timidly shakes his head and pretends to pay attention to every single sound coming from the machines to distract himself, to try and ignore the desire to run his fingers on Louis’ skin that’s invading his own body and for a little while he manages to do it, he’s really able to pretend he’s alone in that small space but then Louis talks, bringing him back to reality and Harry’s not ready, perhaps he has never been ready.

“How could you?” the brunette asks, voice sharp and with a slight hint of anger.

“I’m sorry?” the curly haired says. What did he do now? He said nothing in the last hour or the previous days, at least not to him, so what’s exactly the problem here?

“Why did you talk to Nick? Who gave you the right to tell him everything? I had everything under control and you shouldn’t have intruded! It wasn’t your call!” Louis yells, standing up and pacing nervously.

Harry does the same, confronting him, stopping right in front of his figure, looking straight into his eyes. “You see, he’s the one that came knocking on my hotel room wanting to talk, Louis. He was the one who asked for an explanation. He’s the one who wanted to know. I did nothing wrong and I just answered his questions, as a friend. And yes, it was certainly not my call but I honestly couldn’t kick him out! Do you think I really wanted to tell him about everything that went on between me and you? Do you think I wanted to bring back all those memories?” Harry blurts somehow nervous, gesticulating with his hands and arms, not thinking about the fact that he could hit any of the things around him and get the entire department in trouble but in that moment he couldn’t care less, he wishes he could slap Louis and tell him to go fuck himself, to disappear from the face of the Earth, to stop talking and hurt him, even if he’s not doing it on purpose. But then then only thing he’s able to do is looking at those damn lips, those warm, tender, soft lips that seemed to have been created only to kiss his ones.

“You shouldn’t have done it, you’re not part of my life anymore” Louis says again, raising his voice, desperately running his hands through his hair.

“And I repeat, Nick was the one who came to me, Louis. You can scream at me all you want, but it’s not going to change the reality of it all” Harry yells back, getting closer to Louis’ slim yet muscular body who instinctively bites his bottom lip, strangely insecure, almost scared of the small distance between them.

“I don’t care” the shorter boy whispers, trying to look away from Harry’s eyes which are looking straight at him; it’s stronger than him, he finds himself unable to go against his instinct, it’s too much. “You didn’t have to, that’s it” Louis says, backing away, ending up with his back against the metallic van wall, clinging to his hopes, to something invisible to not give in. To resist getting lost. Harry takes yet another step forward, extending his arms, grabbing Louis’ wrists without thinking, as if his body is the one deciding what to do and that’s why he opens his lips and lets him go, conscious of the mistake he could make if he stays in that position.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” he whispers, bringing his arms back to his sides, his eyes still fixated in the blue Ocean that Louis’ eyes are, the same Louis that is torturing the inside of his cheeks, biting them hard forgetting about the metallic taste of blood and the pain he’s causing himself and instinctively he’s the one extending his arms this time, landing his hand on Harry’s soft sides, squeezing them possessively, almost as if he wants to leave a trace behind. He pulls him closer, ending up a few millimeters away from the other boy’s surprised and visibly confused face.

“What are you doing, Louis? Don’t- it’s wrong” the curly haired one says, unsure voice and trembling hands over and over. And he knows he should move back, he should distance himself and runaway, somewhere else; that’s why he violently shakes his head, allowing his hair to cover part of his face. “It’s wrong, Lou, it’s wrong” he keeps on repeating, trying to escape Louis’ grip, who whispers “You’re right” while running his fingers at the hem of Harry’s skinny jeans, undoing the buttons, without much thinking. And Harry lifts his eyes once again, fixing his on Louis’ crystal ones who’s torturing his lips, while he feels his fingers grasping the dark fabric that embraces his legs and feels it slip with difficulty, with the help of light touches that are sending his brain into overdrive; now he pushes everything away: paranoia, fears, he unties the previously tightened knots, abruptly removes his foot form the imaginary break that was stopping him for weeks. He stops thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong, he just throws himself at Louis’ thin lips and the other boy opens them without a question, allowing his tongue to enter his warm mouth, always eager for more contact. The curly one keeps going, exploring it more, running his tongue everywhere, letting it intertwine with Louis’ who is not holding back either, allowing him to take control. He sticks his fingers inside Harry’s briefs, yanking them from his hips, knowing that tomorrow red marks will be showing on his milky white skin. His fingers runs over and over the exposed skin to then rest his hands on Harry’s bum who winces, feeling Louis’ nails trailing his body, spreading on him even more almost trying to merge both bodies into one; and Harry inevitably remembers what they truly were and had and everything around them always disappeared because they were right next to each other, close under the warm covers, tangled in a way that no one could ever tell where one body ended and the other one began. That mere though makes him pull away from Louis’ lips, looking once again into his eyes, almost asking for permission to continue, trying to find a trace of regret, without really finding it. He then lounges himself to Louis’ shoulder biting it hard, making Louis moan and instinctively lets his head fall back, nearly hitting the cold wall. And Harry keeps going, sucking a bruise onto the other’s skin after violently removing Louis’ light shirt and he doesn’t stop there, he allows his lips to move to his neck, sucking another love bite there, conscious of the fact that Nick will definitely see it that night when Louis goes back home. He doesn’t care, in that moment he just wants for Louis to be his one last time, for Louis to belong to him once more, to have him for himself even if it’s only for that timespan; so he holds him tightly, taking off his pants without even undoing them, making them hit the floor under them. Louis shakes his legs, kicking away the piece of fabric, freeing himself of almost any barrier; Harry then inverts their position, hitting the freezing wall, taking Louis’ place, he pulls him closer again, removing his briefs as well this time, spreading his legs with the help of his own knees.

He looks at him again, getting lost in that deep blue color, noticing a hint of green reflecting from his own eyes, getting closer, joining their lips for yet another wet, needy, urgent and dirty kiss.

“I’ve missed you” he whispers between a peck and a bite, breathless, fingers running through Louis’ skin who moans, nods and rests his forehead on the other boy’s chest, trying to catch his own breath.

“I’ve missed you too, Haz, I really have” he huffs and puffs answering, shoving his pelvis towards Harry’s, asking for more, wanting even more contact.

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, satisfied and slightly surprised as he makes his way inside Louis, teasing his entrance, sinking more with his fingers, picking up the gasps of the blue eyed boy between his lips, completely englobing them. Louis doesn't complain, he lets Harry handle it as he likes; he then pushes Harry, making him land on top of one of the chairs and Louis looks at him, pleading, silently asking him to continue, to bring him to his own limit and show him the Stars, the Moon and the entire Universe. And Harry complies, spreading his legs, locking their eyes, emeralds that finds blue waves that wraps him and stops him from understanding anything else. The curly one lowers himself again, getting closer to Louis’ face who meets him with an open mouth, immediately wrapping his hands in Harry’s hair. H moans while biting his lips, not caring about the verse of protest coming out of Louis’ thin lips, pushing himself more between his firm bum, adding a third finger, speeding his thrusts more and more, while caressing the slight hint of belly Louis has, squeezing it, leaving yet another trace of his presence, and it’s weird because all this shouldn’t turn him on, shouldn’t make him feel good, however he smiles in-between that messy and wet kiss, moaning due to Louis’ fingers pulling on his sweaty and tangled curls, breath mixing. The brunette boy is asking for more without saying a single word, he wants more, he wants to feel him, and Harry couldn’t agree more in that very exact moment, therefore he jerks him, receiving a moan of protest in response, lowering his boxers to his knees where his now forgotten jeans already lie. He pulls him closer, biting his jaw. “You still taste the same” he whispers, rubbing their lips together.

“You don’t know… don’t know how many times I’ve tried forgetting you” Louis says after a few seconds of bewilderment due to that whirlwind of passion that surrounds them. He pants, moving his pelvis to allow Harry to go deeper, making more space with his fingers.

“Were you able to?” he asks, clutching the earlobe between his teeth, tickling his neck with his breath.

“Isn’t it quite obvious?” Louis murmurs, clinging to his chest, running his hands over his shirt, harpooning it, taking some of the buttons with him.

Harry grins, capturing his lips again as he takes his fingers out of the warm cavern that is Louis’ butt, bringing them to his own erection for his own pleasure just before aligning himself with Louis’ entrance and he nods, giving Harry permission to continue, silently telling him that yes, he wants to belong to him even if it is tremendously wrong and incorrect towards Nick, who’s waiting for him at home with open arms. Then he pushes himself inside, making the other one open his lips and close his eyes at the same time; in a flash of lucidity, before letting himself go completely again, he brings his hands under Louis' knees, making him adhere more to his body, leaving only his back to rest on the chair now full of sweat.

Harry gets lost as he returns to grip Louis' soft hips; he observes the details of that face with vaguely feminine features, those lashes so naturally long, that small, perfect, French nose that matches the origins of his name; and all he can do is think that Louis is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his life. He cannot help sighing, while enjoying that extraordinary show, that wonder that is that boy panting and eager for him; and perhaps it is too much for his heart that beats as if he had just run a marathon and had won it, overcoming obstacles after obstacles, person after person. He feels alive for the first time in years and owes everything to those blue eyes that stares at him, while Louis bites his lips hiding the shadow of a mischievous smile, still moaning fully attracting his attention and awakening him from those thoughts. And Harry knows that the next day he’ll have to deal with guilt and the desire to relive those moments, but he lets himself go and chases away the images of the solitude of his hotel room, of the tear-jerking songs that will accompany the weeks to come, because he knows that what's going on will never happen again, probably. So he takes advantage of the opportunity, shakes his head and gives a vigorous push, sinking completely into Louis’ flesh who screams, holding his hands in his hair, pulling and panting without restraint, regardless of the fact that anyone could pass by the van and could hear them.

Harry possessively holds his hands around Louis' pelvis, letting his fingers sneak onto that skin illuminated only by the light that comes from the machinery in operation, pushing himself into that fascinating, sinuous and inviting body, opening his lips and letting their moans come out, leading him to increase the rhythm; and Louis is grateful, he thanks him mentally while regardless of the consequences, he brings his arms to stretch behind his head, greedily clinging to the cables of the devices that, with a sharp blow, disconnect and leave everything to chance, to that fate that will soon make him get into trouble for his carelessness, for his desire to belong to a person who is no longer part of his life but who has remained involuntarily glued to it, as if it had been created specifically for that, to match his sweaty body, with his lustful and thin lips, made on purpose to intertwine his fingers, complementing each other. And Harry thinks the same, while his defenses collapse again, the walls created to protect himself from all that mess gives in and the speed of his movements increases again, forcing him to scratch Louis' hips, sinking his nails into the flesh that he would like to bite, to leave the imprint of his teeth. And it's wrong, it really is, but who are they to resist that desire? Harry does not object, he rather lean forward and put his lips on Louis' protruding collarbone, biting them hard. Louis moans, immediately bringing a hand through Harry's curly hair, squeezing it jealously, as if it belonged to him.

“T-there, Harry, again, there” he implores him, arching his back, oblivious of the pain that Harry's teeth are causing him, not caring about all the signs that are staining his skin, putting aside any trace of resentment he should feel; but Louis can’t, letting go of that wave of pleasure that suddenly invades him, while Harry continues to help him reach his high, that high that makes him touch the sky, the clouds and even the Milky Way with a finger, that high that makes his body shiver all over, that high that pushes him to come profusely on his own pelvis, breathing heavily with his head bent backwards. And the curly one follows him closely, emptying between his butt cheeks, accompanying his orgasm with slow and tired movements, leading him to pant again, again and again, while he tries to regularize the beats of his heart. And it's like going back in time, for both of them, within the walls of their bedroom in central London. It is like breathing for the first time and discovering that you are able to feel something strong, as if they had just swallowed the heaviest of alcohol; as if the flames had enveloped them, involving them in an indomitable fire, made of breathless breaths and hearts that beat in unison, to the rhythm of the same song. They look at each other again for minutes that seem to last an eternity, they study each other in silence, regulating their breaths, slowly recovering. They get lost again in the deep meanders of the other's eyes, thinking that perhaps all is not lost, that there is still hope for them too. And they believe it, they really believe it, but those moments last just a few seconds because they soon realize what really happened. They went against reason, against principles, against the intellect that has always guided them. They let themselves go to something that should never have happened, not in that way, not when Louis has a safe place to return to every day, not when Harry has not yet managed to turn the page, staying on it without ever writing the word end; and Louis opens his eyelids, abruptly moving away from Harry's body, pushing him away as he tries to get dressed quickly, recovering his boxers and jeans still abandoned near the wall of the van, where the figure of Harry looks at him dumbfounded.

"Shit" Louis mumbles, poorly buttoning his pants, slightly scratching his thigh with the abrupt movement.  
Harry is still silent, unable to form a meaningful sentence. He’s wondering what prompted Louis to react that way; after all, it was his fault, initially. It was he who pulled on his clothes to break down his every defense, to go against his every belief.

"Shit" Louis says again, shaking his head vigorously, finally looking up and pointing his gaze at the upset Harry who has meanwhile got dressed, nervously biting his lower lip.

"I-it wasn't supposed to happen" Louis whispers then, running a hand through his hair, trying to put it back in order, to no avail. And Harry would like to say something, to tell him that he knows it was wrong and that he doesn’t regret it, because in spite of everything, Louis is all he needs.

So "Lou–" he begins, but he’s interrupted by the door that opens wide, revealing the slender figure of Zayn that "Guys I- what the fuck happened?" blurts, referring to the cables of the machinery scattered around the floor. And Louis looks down guilty, playing with the edge of the tight shirt. Zayn shakes his head, handing Harry his coffee, not before having cast a look of disappointment at both, then hurrying to reconnect everything, hoping that he has not lost anything, that he has not combined any irreparable damage.

He gets up and sighs after making sure that everything works perfectly, again, and lets his gaze fly on the insecure and nervous figures who are beside him, standing far away, as if they were accomplices of something that nobody will ever have to know; and that's when he understands. It’s at that moment that he notices their upset expressions, their disheveled hair and a suspicious stain on the chair not far from his body; he opens his eyes wide and "I think you need some fresh air" he says, shaking his head again, with a sly smile on his face, despite knowing that there is nothing to laugh about, especially because a few hours later, he will have to suffer the complaints of Harry who, without saying a word, gets out of the van and leans against the wall of an abandoned building. 

He thinks he’s a complete idiot, a fool who has been overwhelmed by his own feelings, by what he has tried to repress for years. He deluded himself, let himself go and now he’s certain that it will be worse than before, aware of having completely lost control. For this reason, he struggles to breathe, to restore order among that tangle of thoughts that lingers in his mind, overwhelming him even more. And he knows it, he knows it will hurt, that looking into Louis' eyes will not make him feel the same things, on the contrary he will amplify them, multiplying the pain and tripling the love. Because it’s what that is for him, it’s the love that prompted him to melt, to cling to that flash of hope that Louis gave him until a few moments before; it’s always the love that upsets him, leaving him with a huge void in the center of his chest because of Louis' frightened gaze, of his "It shouldn't have happened." And yet... yet it was he, he who with that "Isn't it evident?" gave him permission to become one again, perhaps for the last time. And for Harry that's not enough, he still wants more, he needs more; he would be willing to give anything to touch Louis' skin, to embrace him again, to hold him possessively and kiss him as if his own life depended on that touch, and perhaps it is, despite being wrong, but in that moment he cannot concentrate, too busy trying to breathe normally. But he can't do it. He is shaken, disappointed, broken and would like to run, move as far as he can, maybe go back to New York where everything is simpler, where everything has a logical sense and the days are monotonous; but he cannot escape from all this, he cannot take refuge somewhere else forever, he’s forced to face the present and deal with it at least for the next few weeks, until they come to the conclusion of that damned case, until they beat the bastard behind it and put him bars. He’s making them go crazy. And that’s what he should be focusing on, all the details they have collected, the wiretapping, but how can he do it? How can he drive everything away, when he's not even sure he can stand on his own legs? How can he go back to thinking about those three kids, when his heart doesn't want to stop beating madly and hurting him?

Hood and Birdman are tired; Harry reads it in their eyes. He watches them as they walk around the room, sighing heavily, nodding sporadically. He understands them, to be honest, he's as stressed as they are and would like to be able to turn off his brain even for five minutes, but obviously he can't, not now that they are so close to closing the case.

"Malik, tell us what we have, please" and for a few seconds he feels like he’s back to school, to questions and the fear of making a mistake, of getting a bad grade. And he would like to laugh, but he refrains because it doesn't seem the right way to deal with the situation and his boss would probably have his head on a silver platter.

Zayn sighs, clearing his throat and “After weeks of unsuccessful research, we have come to a turning point. Thanks to the anonymous source, we managed to finally find the right track to follow, thanks also to the interceptions, although initially there was some technical problem" he pauses for a few seconds to turn around and glance at Louis who, taken aback, blushes and bites his lip, moving his gaze elsewhere.

"Good. Styles, anything else? " Hood asks, continuing to walk far and wide, never looking them in the eye. And Harry is grateful to him, because he would feel twice as nervous, in awe, although he knows he is good at what he does. But that's not enough, it's never enough, that's why he runs a hand through his hair and closes his eyes for a few moments, trying to make up his mind. 

“In addition to this, we know that the accomplice, or one of the accomplices of the Unknown Subject is hovering around the orphanage; perhaps to observe the situation, perhaps to look for the next potential victim, we’re still not sure of this; but we know that after hanging out near the building, he goes to the Industrial Zone which is located not far from here, enters a factory that is not properly compliant and stays inside for about ten minutes" Harry promptly replies, looking around and regretting the moment he does. Louis’ staring at him and it's unnerving, because they haven't talked since the day they ruined everything. They can't even stay in the same room alone; they always feel the need to have other people around. And maybe it's stupid, maybe it's fear or maybe it's just the way it should be. Slow and painful, like the worst of nightmares. Then he turns abruptly and “Once out, he pulls out the phone and calls someone. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to intercept anything of those conversations yet, so we don't know if he call his boss or someone else. That's all we have for the moment" he continues, under the attentive gaze of Hood and Birdman who nods, then stopping behind the large desk that dominates those four walls. They sit and scrutinize the sheets scattered on that cold surface, whispering something between them, without making the rest of the participants participate.

"Okay, now we would like everyone's attention" Birdman declares, looking up and aiming it slowly at the eyes of every detective and every policeman.

"This" he begins, pointing to the huge blackboard behind his figure, "is the way we will move in the next few days" he continues, exposing the tactics he and the head of his team have thought of in the past week, stopping only to give Hood a chance to add some details, to make sure that everything is clear to each of them. There are those who take notes, those who are bored and look around, now tired of always hearing the same things, those who, like him, are attentive and listen while having their heads elsewhere, and he cannot lose concentration, he knows, but he feels Louis' agitation and nervousness even from the distance that divides them; out of the corner of his eye he looks at him, torturing his lips with his teeth, while trying to understand what is going on in his head. But it's impossible, he can't understand, can’t face the fact that, fuck, they messed up together, and now they look like two kindergarten children. Yet they are mature and intelligent, they could face that problem as adults, civilians, but evidently it is not what fate has in store for them. And Harry would like to scream, throw all those chairs across the room, pull his hair up to tear it and feel physical pain. Because he has had enough of the psychological one, he can no longer torment himself with all the what ifs. 

"All clear?" Hood asks, after finishing the talk that Harry half lost, but he is sure that he will receive a detailed summary shortly afterwards, thanks to Clifford’s work who, even with their eight hours time zone difference, continues to be efficient and fulfill his tasks by sending them a comprehensive report at the end of each day. So he doesn't worry too much, standing up and silently following Liam and Zayn who are walking in front of him, as if he was their shadow.

They stop only when they find themselves in front of the Department, when both their colleagues and the Scotland Yard policemen have left the building, all but one: Louis. Louis who is watching him, while fighting his wars, undecided whether to approach him or not. That makes Harry raise an eyebrow, waiting for any move by the other one and he knows for sure that Louis feels guilty, reads it in the storm that are his eyes, perceives it from his trembling movements.

But it's just too much, so he sighs and mentally sends him to get fucked, turning to Zayn who chuckles, lighting a cigarette. He doesn’t say a word, he merely gives him a cunning look but Liam interrupts the silent conversation he’s having with Zayn. "So, Haz?" he says uncertainly. Harry hesitates for a few seconds, waiting to hear Louis' footsteps as he walks away, then "So what?" he answers, focusing on Payne's eyes.

"How, uhm, how are you?" he asks, reassuring him with a smile. And he knows he can trust Liam and Zayn, so he goes into a detailed explanation about everything that happened in the previous weeks; he exposes his fears, his thoughts, all the disappointment that’s wearing him out from within. He spats all paranoia, shaking slightly, while the two listen attentively without interrupting him. He tells them about the afternoon spent in the van, about how they found themselves exposed and naked among those cold thin walls that saw them weak and united. He catches his breath after finishing the speech, looking for a hold in the figures of his friends who look at him slightly upset, probably surprised by all the chaos that hovers in his mind; but he thanks them without uttering a word, because they say nothing and just smiles at him, trying to understand him, to hold all that burden together, with him. And Harry feels lucky, although nothing goes as it should, but at least he has Liam and Zayn, and he will have them even when he returns to the Big Apple.

"Well..." Liam begins again, not quite sure what to say, looking afraid.  
"I'd say we can go have a beer now, huh?" Zayn interrupts him, completely changing the subject. The curly haired one nods, smiling slightly, mentally thanking anyone who has given him two friends like them. And without adding anything else, they head to the car given to them by the Department, so that they can easily move through the messy streets of London.

And while sitting in the back seat, trying to pay attention to Liam's senseless jokes, he can't help but think that Louis is the most complicated person he knows; because he doesn't understand him, he really can't, not anymore. And he wonders why Louis continues to avoid him like he is the plague, to implant imaginary fences in their non-existing relationship. It hurts, however, a lot, too much and he would only like to go back and erase that moment of weakness, that flash of freedom savored for so little time.

The Department is busy, they have been locked in there for almost a week and they’re exhausted, stressed, frustrated. They are looking for the missing piece, that very important detail that will lead them to the conclusion of the case. They are close, they are aware of it, but they still can’t find it. And Harry is tired, he hasn't slept in three days and needs a bed and, above all, a shower; he doesn't remember the last time he managed to go to his hotel room and touch a single drop of water.

His colleagues are not in a better position, their eyes are turned on, their eyelids wide open because of the too many coffees they had, paperwork on paperwork that crowds the whole Central, the telephones that rings madly, signaling every interception, every minimum move of Suspect 1, of which they still don't know the name but it doesn't matter. They follow him uninterruptedly from what seems like an eternity and are only waiting for the moment when the latter takes them to whoever dictates the orders, to his boss. And the nervousness is sky high, the tension is almost palpable with the fingers and even the most ephemeral spark is enough to trigger the stupidest of the fights, just like the previous evening between Hemmings and Payne after Hood instructed Luke and Ashton to lurk in front of the abandoned building, the one where Suspect 1 heads to every day.

Harry straightens his hair, sighing heavily and repeatedly tapping his foot on the floor as if he was facing the most complicated situation of his life. Which is not so far from reality, to be honest; but after all, he thinks that this is not the right time to think about Louis. Absolutely not. He must concentrate on the overflowing sheets of names, characteristics, places and telephone numbers in front of him, dig even deeper, cross every text, every word that has come to them thanks to the testimonies. And he does it, while he nibbles at the back of a pen and nods occasionally, checking and rechecking the notes, the whole month’s reports, the telephone records of the last two weeks. His eyes hurt, his head is about to explode and he needs to eat something, but he doesn't have the strength to get up and head towards the Department’s break room and grab a piece of pizza, leftover from lunchtime. So he sighs and lets his fingers slide over the bridge of his nose, narrowing his eyelids and taking a few seconds to clear his mind and analyze the situation. He can do it, they can do it, he's more than sure. He would just like to understand what escapes them.

"I FOUND IT!" Irwin exclaims getting up, quickly reaching Hood under everyone's shocked gaze. He violently slams a few sheets on the Chief's desk who, slightly confused, grabs them and reads them quickly, nodding vigorously, who then pushes the chair aside, giving Ashton a pat on the shoulder and "I found it" he repeats, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

And Harry smiles as he looks around and dwells on the expressions of his colleagues; he observes them carefully and reads only relief, that hint of euphoria mixed with happiness that makes him think that yes, they did it, they have reached a turning point and all that is needed now is to implement an action plan, decide how to move and hit -not in the literal sense of the word-, arresting Suspects 1 and 2, slamming them into one of those cold cells awaiting for them.

Harry trembles as he holds his gun in his hands, pointing it straight ahead. They have surrounded the factory where Suspects 1 and 2 are hiding and are waiting for a nod from Hood and Birdman to enter, to intervene and face those bastards. And the agitation is at an exorbitant level, the nervousness cuts the air as if it was a sharp blade and Harry would like to vomit, to free himself from the weight on his shoulders, on his mind, on his heart. However, he believes they have been lucky to get there, to intercept those damn phone calls, although it took them a whole month, but he knows it was worth it, that the satisfaction will be so great that it will be enough for the rest of their lives; and perhaps he exaggerated, but he doesn’t care, because the beats of his heart are strong, going faster and faster and he doesn’t know what to expect. He’s happy, seriously happy, but there’s that spot of fear that accompanies him while he shakes, shifting the weight from one foot to the other, while he sees his boss nodding not far from him, and indicating three different points from which they will have to enter and raid the building. And instinctively, driven by a superior force coming from God knows where, he turns to look for Louis’ small figure, finding him a few meters away from him, hidden behind his own gun with a concentrated gaze. And he thinks he’s beautiful, that the light of the Moon makes him magnificent, that it highlights the color of his eyes although he cannot see them from that distance, but he knows every nuance of that blue by heart and would give anything to be able to lose himself in them again one more time. He shakes his head slightly, while the mind involuntarily flies to the afternoon in the “stalking” van, when they belonged to one another, when they shared their breaths, thoughts, feelings. And he can't help but feel small, almost useless, while his brain and lips want to say the I love you that he never said and that he will never be able to say, because he knows he won't have the chance; he would like to touch his caramel skin, hold him into his arms and transmit to him what he has never been able to make him understand. He would like to whisper sweet words of comfort to support him, even in those seconds of confusion, tension and terror. He would like to chain himself to his soul, his hands, his clumsy heart, caress his hair and kiss him until he no longer has oxygen in his body. He would really like it and yet he remains still, unable to move, while Birdman and Hood advance towards the pre-established points and motion for their men to follow them and cover their backs. For that reason he pushes everything away again, being flooded by worry, mixing it with fear and adrenaline that he feels through the veins, chills all over his skin, making him tremble even more.

He follows his colleagues, his team, slowly and with his arms stretched forward, ready for anything. But he doesn’t really know what they’ll find inside of that factory; their expectations are low, perhaps too much, because they know that there is a good chance that the victims -with a little luck still alive- are in there, hidden in an unreachable corner of those washed-out and old walls. But they are not sure, it is an hypothesis, it could also be a trap or yet another hole in the water despite everything. He breathes heavily, trying not to stumble, not to make mistakes, while Liam nods to him with a smile as if he wants to reassure him mentally, making him understand that everything will be fine. But Harry has a strange feeling, a boulder that does not allow him to swallow properly, something that agitates him more. And he’s afraid, he is afraid of it, more than before, perhaps because there is too much at stake besides the lives of those three defenseless children. But he tries to get the strength, tries his best to return Liam's smile and to make his way into the building behind the rest of his colleagues who quickly lose themselves, each taking a different direction after yet another command from their bosses.

He moves promptly down a battered corridor after nodding to Zayn who has turned the corner a few moments earlier. He pulls a small torch out of his jeans’ pocket, holding it tightly above his gun to give himself some light, to make his way and not end up with his face on the ground. He is alone, completely, and feels vulnerable, as small as an ant in the middle of a wheat field, uncertain, looking for security, a foothold, anything that can keep him afloat. But there is no one, only him and his intellect. He tortures his lips with his teeth, agitated, while he opens a door that barely creaks. He glances over the badly whitewashed walls, the falling furniture and the pile of bricks that decorate the room. He coughs slightly, advancing and instinctively wondering how his companions, his colleagues, his friends are doing. And the worry rises, while a noise attracts his attention and pushes him to run in that direction, on the other side of that hole covered with dust.

He scans the darkness, illuminates it with the dim light of that torch, sighing in surprise when Louis, with his own scared expression, appears before his eyes. They observe each other for a few seconds, trying to regulate their breathing, calming themselves almost immediately.

"Found anything?" Louis asks, his tone light and barely audible.  
Harry shakes his head and "No, you?" he replies, relaxing even more, even if the situation doesn’t give them much relief and time to be completely relaxed.

"Nothing" the brunette informs him, continuing to look around. And Harry bites his lower lip hard until he feels the iron taste of blood. "Listen, Lou, I..." he whispers, seeking the courage to tell him what he thinks, to make him partake of those feelings that are too big for a single person. But Louis interrupts him, shaking his head and then look him in the eyes and frame them in his. "Sorry" He murmurs, lowering the gun and running a hand through his hair.

"For what?" Harry asks, confusion all over his face, even though he’s aware that it’s Louis' fault and he’s the one that pushed him away and he’s probably apologizing for that. And he knows he's right, that pushing him away was the only option, that Nick’s there and that there can never be anything between them, but he still has that slight glimmer of hope that makes his heart beat faster, as if it wanted to get out of his chest, because he already forgave him, stupidly and unconsciously.

"For this" Louis says, approaching Harry who instinctively holds his breath, hearing fireworks, the angelic choirs intoning the Hallelujah. He sees the Sun, the Moon, the Stars and feels complete; he seems to be crossing a rainbow of many shades and feels good, while Louis touches his hand, trying to intertwine their fingers and he knows that their lips are about to join again, he knows that in a few seconds his head will explode, it will just stop functioning. But a shot, a fucking shot interrupts them and brings them back to reality, to the case.

They’re abruptly awaken, widening their eyes, realizing that they would have made yet another mistake. And Harry mentally despairs, because it’s not possible that he has fallen so low, that he has come to depend on Louis, yet again. So he sighs, while Louis precedes him and walks quickly towards the noise, only hoping that no one is actually wounded, no one to help. The curly boy follows him in silence, calling himself an idiot mentally because, fuck, he let himself go again, he was duped by those magnetic, hypnotic eyes without realizing it. And he wouldn't have been sorry this time, but he can't get lost once again, he can't just do it. Especially, not right now. They move in synchrony, nervously, in tension, terrified. They move at a brisk pace, trying not to make noises, not to crash into some rubble and not to attract too much attention. They don't want to be discovered, they don't want to jeopardize the entire expedition; they just want to complete their task, get out of that place and breathe freely, with no more worries and yet another victory in their hands, yet another case solved, yet another happy ending. And they hope, they really do, but they don't know what to expect as they cross a threshold just illuminated by a faint, old and annoying light, so much so that they are forced to blink repeatedly to get used to that semi-darkness. They hold their breaths again, while they look around, the eyes slide everywhere to look for the source of that shot, the culprit, one of the suspects, but nothing. They only hear a laugh, almost hysterical, and Louis stiffens, stopping suddenly in front of Harry who, inevitably, raises his eyebrows and freezes, like the brown-haired man who shakes his head and repeats an infinite chant of "No, no, no. It cannot be". And Hsrry would like to scream, pat himself on the shoulder for following his instinct in the previous weeks, complimenting himself for not giving confidence to that boy who he was unable to frame, fearful; he would like to shake hands with himself for not allowing that person to come closer, to insinuate himself into the bowels, under the skin, without creating any bond. He would like to do it, really, but in those seconds his whole body would like to rebel, get closer to Louis and protect him from all the evil the world and that place have to offer, biting his lips hard as if to tear away the layer of skin that makes them smooth.

And Harry doesn't know what to do, he looks at that figure standing in front of them, a grin on his face as he claps his hands as if to compliment them. But for what? For finding him? To finally be able to get to the conclusion of everything? Harry doesn't know, but he's shocked when Louis asks “Niall? Niall, what are you doing here? What is happening?", almost in a whisper. And Harry would like to go forward, take him in his arms and take him away, away from that chaos, that immense pain he’s sure Louis’ feeling; because he knows, he knows that Louis is suffering, that he’s pining silently for having trusted such a despicable person, for having considered him a friend but who’s now the enemy.

“Don't make that face, LouLou. What's this? Aren't you happy to see me? " says Niall, turning over the gun in his hands, playing with it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Louis' gaze is confused, wounded, broken; his eyes are slightly shiny and he realizes, finally, while Harry looks at them dumbfounded, without saying a word, he simply remains silent, as if the matter was only between Louis and Niall. And maybe it is, maybe it isn’t, but he doesn't feel like saying anything, triggering something in the mind of that madman who continues to smile like he’s meeting friends at a pub.

"Took you long enough" Horan continues, stepping in front of them, walking those few centimeters as if nothing had happened. "I didn't think I had to resort to a shot to get your attention" he concludes by turning, peering at them with those clear eyes covered by a veil of darkness, that same darkness that scares Harry, that makes him tremble again, that makes him think that there’s never a limit to worst, to evil and cruelty.

"H-how could you?" Louis asks, stammering and keeping his face high, proud, trying to look strong. "I t-trusted you" he then murmurs, shaking his head, causing his hair to end up in front of his eyes and cover them, hiding that hint of sadness, of disappointment, of weakness. Harry turns, looking at Louis' profile, thinking that his courage and professionalism, at that moment, are crazy. He himself probably would not have been able to remain so cold, if he had been in his place, if he had had a relationship with Horan, he is more than sure.

“What about you, Styles? Aren’t you going to say anything?" he challenges him, pointing at him with the gun barrel. And he feels the shivers down his back, the goosebumps on the arms covered by the uniform of the FBI. 

“You are just a psychopath, a maniac. The only thing you deserve to know is that you disgust me and I can't wait to see you rot in jail" Harry spits, gathering what little reason he has left, the lost courage that had slipped away once he set foot in that run-down building. And he shakes his head, grits his teeth and hardens his gaze, fitting him into the stormy one of Horan who laughs rudely.  
“Ah, Styles, Styles. If only you knew the truth, I doubt you would spit such sentences" he says, continuing to chuckle, moving his gaze to Louis who frowns, even more confused.

"What do you mean?" he asks, trying to understand, to clear his mind. He knows him or better, he thinks he knows him, knows everything about him. They were friends, until a few hours ago, they shared unforgettable moments, laughter, hugs; they vented to each other and perhaps, perhaps, it was the worst mistake of his life.

"Seriously, Louis?" Niall goes on. "Did you really never notice anything?"

"What are you talking about?" he asks again, feeling light, trembling like a leaf ready to be picked up by the wind and dragged away, far away. He feels Harry's gaze focused on him, and he’s grateful for his presence, for having his figure beside him. It gives him peace of mind, he feels confident and would like to turn around, tell him and let him know that despite being a jerk, he cares about him, he wants him to be a part of his life, his days. But he can't afford it, not at that moment, so he returns to watch Niall who sighs and steps in front of a large window, turning his back on them.

"Not everyone is born lucky, with a loving family behind them; a mother who tucks you under the blankets, a father who gives you advice, a sister who hugs you during the watery, stormy nights" he declares, bringing his hands behind his back, crossing them and making the gun visible. "And it may seem absurd to you, but let's just say that you never stop missing love, ever" he continues, losing himself in his thoughts for a few seconds.

Harry raises his eyebrows again. "Why are you telling us this?" he asks, lowering his guard slightly, feeling Louis' tension reach him straight to the skin. 

"Because I'm an orphan" and both Harry and Louis find themselves holding their breath, being invaded by a thousand and more thoughts, options on options, lulled by that stain of pain and pity they cannot help feeling for Niall.

Louis shakes his head, drops his arms to his sides, helpless. "What?" he says.

And Niall shrugs, a nervous laugh comes from those chapped lips, tortured by white teeth for too long. “See, Louis? This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I have always hidden this part of my life to avoid everyone’s pity expressions, to not be looked at in a different way" he explains, running a hand through his dyed blond hair. “To prevent people like you, you fucking stupid bourgeois, from seeing me as someone I am not. And Birdman, that bastard, was the only one who knew about it, the only one who knew the reality of the facts, my past, the pain I had felt and still feel. And what did he do? He always discredited me, giving merit to people who shouldn't have received it" he adds angrily. “And why? Never a credit, very few words ever left his mouth for me, annoyance in recognizing someone like me has arrived where he is with his own strength for having blown and got his bastard of a godson’s position, fighting with all I had" he continues, shaking slightly, moving his arms from one side to the other. "For Birdman, I'm nothing more than a fucking tear to the rule, an unexpected thing that he found in his way. A probelm" he concludes, gritting his teeth, shaking his head vigorously and letting himself escape yet another hysterical, disturbing, creepy laugh.

Harry is quiet, thinking back to those words, he examines them one by one, trying to understand the reason for this gesture. And he sweats cold, because he is afraid, he is terrified of what could happen, he is no longer sure of anything and does not know if they will find the three kids alive. And he cannot face the situation like this, he must recover and think positively, try to make Niall think, to make him explain further, to get to an actual reason. Then he looks around, dwelling on Louis who is still trembling, perhaps more than before, and looks at the floor, unable to move, in silence, being oppressed by those confessions. So Harry takes lead on the situation and sighs "Why children?" he asks, the low, hoarse tone of voice audible thanks to the silence that hovers around their figures. “Why go so far? Why, if you were in their same situation too? " he continues, holding the gun tightly in his right hand, afraid of a possible abrupt reaction from Niall. "Who, more than you, had a valid reason to avoid this tragedy?" he asks again. And, at that point, Horan turns around quickly, his eyes nearly out of his sockets, furious with anger and only God knows what.

"To prove that anyone can trick and fuck the system, even someone like me" he cries, breathing heavily. And there’s something strange in the air, something that pushes Harry to stop, to look around for the millionth time, to focus on where he is and the people he faces. He feels alone against Niall, he hears Louis' breathing speed up, his eyes always low and his body trembling. And the anger rises, crosses his bowels. "You... Did you use children for this? To show the world that you can do something you shouldn’t? " he explodes, throwing out frustration, nervousness and fatigue.

"Intuitive" Niall seems to congratulate him, grinning while playing with the gun, passing it from hand to hand as if it was a ball, as if it was a natural, normal thing.

"You are crazy" he spits out, clenching his fists being careful not to hit the trigger so as to not make a mistake and hurt himself.

"Probably, but I still won"

And Harry laughs, laughs rudely thinking that that moment is really absurd, the situation in general, the case and even Horan are absurd, so much so that he can't hold back and laughs louder. "Seriously?" he says, calming down slightly, letting a sly smile take place on his face. And he feels Louis' gaze on himself, incredulous and probably frightened, dazed; and he knows that he is, surely, cursing him in all the languages he knows, that he’s insulting him and sending him to fuck himself. But he can't stop, he's stronger than he is.

"Yet here you are, in front of us, about to end up in exile" he continues, and then "I don't think you've won much, after all" he adds, staring straight into his eyes full of anger and what, in his opinion, can only be madness.

And it's in that moment that Niall stretches his arms forward, holds the gun tightly in his hands, pointing it at his slender and thin figure; everything seems to slow down, like in one of the worst action movies. It all seems muffled by the thoughts that flow fast, the heart that beats quickly and the movements become static, instinctive, indispensable. And Horan fires one shot, only one, straight at his body, and it's all so fast that Harry himself doesn't realize he is doing the same actions. And he follows his instinct, listens to himself as he thinks oh shooting him in return, to aim at the head and close his eyes, to do everything possible to save himself, trying to dodge death. And he doesn't gear the "NO!" screamed, the figure that appears before him, he doesn’t see those eyes full of tears that belong to a face too beautiful even for the greatest painters. He does not hear the cry of pain coming from the other side of the room, he does not hear Niall's body fall to the ground, dying after a last trembling, difficult breath. He does not feel his own eyes burning, aware of what they will find in front of them in a few seconds. He does not have the courage to open them, to face reality. He’s not ready, he will never be. He drops his arms to his sides, opening his right hand and throwing the gun on the ground. He’s terrified, he trembles and feels his legs soft as he forces his eyelids to part, to open them slowly, trying to take time, to prepare for the scene he never thought he’d live. Yet he kneels, destroyed, broken, torn, holding Louis in his arms, looking at him fixedly on his half-closed eyes, the dilated pupils and the barely perceptible breath. And he thinks that no, he cannot lose him, he cannot afford it. He strokes his hair, moving it from his cold forehead, squeezing him against his chest; a hand presses on his heart, on that wound impossible to heal and “Everything will be fine, love. Everything will be fine" he whispers, before screaming, shouting as loud as possible, trying to attract the attention of his team, of anyone, so that they can call an ambulance, so they can save his Louis. And his mind wanders among the memories, dwelling on the happy ones, those in which their bodies were united as if they were one, those in which their hands were intertwined, linked by something indissoluble; his thoughts juggle to the memories of the love he has never forgotten, between the notes of Louis' crystalline laughter, that blue gaze that he has never been able to sustain for long, too much to bear for anyone, even for him who loves him, who loved him. And he feels empty, lost, drifting; he looks for a hold between the tears that flow undisturbed, shaken as he thinks he has never been broken, in pieces. Trying to cling to hope, even if minimal, while a litany of "No, no, no" comes out his the wet, salty lips. He cradles the brunette’s body, squeezing it even stronger as if he wants to make it part of himself.

Louis coughs, struggling to breathe, fatigued. "H-Harry... I-I wanted to tell you- I wanted to tell you that-" he tries, but Harry interrupts him and "No, love. Don't waste your breath, don't force yourself. Help is coming" he murmurs, running his tapered fingers over Louis’ smooth, caramel skin now cold as marble. But Louis insists, still tries to speak and "Harry... H-Harry, I-I…" he says, while Harry closes his eyes and tries to stay positive, getting closer to the one who he believes is and always will be the love of his life, the one who gave him the best moments, the greatest smiles, the most explosive emotions.

"Ssshh love, don't talk" he whispers, sniffling. "Save your breath, please" he begs, resting his chin on top of Louis’ head who has now fallen silent, perhaps to make him happy, to recover air, to resume breathing correctly. And Harry continues to talk to him, to reassure him, to convey to him all the love he feels, that he has felt and that he will feel in the days, months, and years to come. But in his heart he knows it, he knows it, Louis left him, he left carrying a piece of his life, of his heart. Yet he doesn't let him go, he doesn't give up, he doesn't want to believe it. He continues to cry, to rock him, to comfort him. He murmurs an "I love you" with gritted teeth, making them end on his lower lip, resting his forehead against Louis’ who, helpless, lies in his strong, trembling and exhausted arms. And he no longer thinks, he screams, shakes his head, swears against a God in whom he does not believe and does not notice the hands that shakes him, grabs him by the shoulders and try to remove him from Louis' body. He doesn't hear Zayn's voice trying to bring him back to reality, to get him to let go. But how can he abandon Louis? How can he get away from him? How can he return to breathing properly? How can he reopen his eyes and face that torment? How can he go back to living? How can he deal with the fact that Louis has sacrificed his life to save him?

And Harry breaks into many more pieces as he clings to that defenseless body, squeezing it once again and he’s embittered, angry, because it’s unfair the way in which Louis, despite being dead, manages to make him fall in love even more. And he despairs, shakes his head hard and curses God again or whoever takes his place for not allowing him to return his heart, for not having given him one last kiss, one last smile.

"Leave him. Harry, leave him. It's over" Liam's voice comes clear to his ears, suddenly awakening him. And he hates himself, he really does, because Louis shouldn't be on that floor, no. And he would like to leave him, go away and let the team do their job, to recover the two inanimate bodies from that room, but he can't do it, he can't. It’s stronger than him. For that reason he bends, still approaching Louis' face, still brushing his hair away from his forehead, thinking that he will never forget his disarming beauty; he observes him for a few more seconds, feeling the heat from the tears that continuously wet his red cheeks. He leans forward, narrowing his eyes and touching Louis' lips with his, giving him a silent goodbye, together with the feelings he was not able and will never be able to show him. And then he lets himself be dragged by Liam, gets up on his feet, clinging to his muscular body, letting himself go in his tight hold; and Liam tries to reassure him, to comfort him with sweet words, but he knows that it’s useless, that he cannot give him back what he would like at that moment. And it’s when Zayn reaches them, placing a hand on his trembling shoulder, murmuring an "I'm sorry, H" that Harry breaks down completely, that he lets himself go even more, shaken by sobs, his breath more uneven than before as if he had run a marathon without reaching the predetermined goal. It’s in that instant that he dies, slowly, together with Louis.

Three days have passed, fifteen hours and forty-seven seconds since the light of his Louis stopped illuminating the days. Three days have passed, fifteen hours and forty-eight seconds since his heart stopped beating. Three days have passed, fifteen hours and forty-nine seconds and he still hasn't recovered, he simply can't.

Harry hugs his warm coat, a light breeze cuts the air, quickly drying the tears that run continuously down his face. He’s far away, hidden among the trees that decorate that desolate Cemetery, which makes it almost feel alive; he looks around, feeling too much, alone and insecure more than ever. This is why he lowers his gaze, focusing on the dark lawn, thinking that it hurts, that the weight on his heart is huge, heavy and believes he’ll never be able to overcome it, that he’ll never forget what he felt on the day he saw his Louis dying in his arms, between tears and memories. And he tries to push those moments away from his mind, to hide them, to take them as far as possible, but it is as if a supernatural force forces them to remain there, on those red-stained pages. And he runs a hand through his curls, barely ruffling them, raising his head and observing the people gathered around Louis' coffin. He scrutinizes them carefully, dwelling on their dull expressions, his eyes flooded with storm and it’s inevitable for him to feel the same way, especially when his gaze falls on Nick who’s bent on the white wood that embraces Louis’ slender body, crying noisily, while the Priest pronounces words that he cannot hear.

He sniffles and moves his face slightly, stopping when he finds Jay, Louis' mother, with her head bowed down and her hands in front of her eyes. And he would like to approach her, hug her tightly and tell her that he understands her, that he feels the same way, even if he knows that losing a child is very different from losing a boyfriend or a friend.

"Why you?" he whispers to himself as they lower the coffin into the ground and people begin to get closer, murmuring phrases of consolation to the ears of family members, of people close to him, then dropping a white rose on the soil that covers it. "Why not me?" he adds to his own speech. And he collapses again, letting himself be taken over by those hysterical, bitter, felt tears, perhaps even too much. But he can't help it, it's the injustices of life, the risks of their profession, but he continues to think that it shouldn't have been Louis' turn to die. And he shrugs, because perhaps he could have prevented it, he could have made Niall think instead of unleashing his anger and forcing him to shoot. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But what are the odds now? Nothing can be done, it’s only making it more difficult to breathe, to exist. For that reason he remains on the sidelines while that small crowd is dispersed, while everyone leaves with lighter eyes and a heavier heart. But his team and Louis' colleagues wait a moment longer, addressing a few words to his buried body. And in that moment, Liam and Zayn turn to him, smile at him and silently send him the comfort he needs; then they do it, they raise their rifles, pointing them at sky firing one shot each, saluting, because that's how it works, it’s what the rules say, that’s how an Officer must be commemorated. And they too, after that little theatrical act, scatter and head each to their own car, ready to resume their life, their routine.

Harry waits a few more minutes before slowly walking to Louis' grave. He puts his hand into his coat’s pocket and hesitates, uncertain, clutches that wet letter between his fingers, that letter that contains what he was unable to tell him before he died, that letter full of feelings, that letter that Louis' blue eyes will never be able to read but hopefully it will still arrive, somehow, wherever he is at that moment. And he kneels, once again beside him, shakes his head and bites his lips, while his arm stretches forward and drops that paper full of words, that paper full of love.

And he cries, louder with heavy, labored breathing and it’s simply too much. So he takes his face in his hands and sobs, breaks even further. "I'll miss you" he whispers, bringing his fingers back on that soil, stroking it, imagining Louis' soft skin, the chills he would feel and the smile he would give him.

No one answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, if you managed to get to this point and stick with the story. I hope you liked it as much as I did when I wrote it, years ago.  
> Let me know what you thing about it either with a comment or with a message/tweet. You can find all my profiles in my bio. 
> 
> Thank you, again. Have a nice day/evening xx


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